


care & keeping

by casualbird



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, M/M, Mild Praise Kink, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), dad! heaven! now!, guided masturbation, porn can have a little a plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21982876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualbird/pseuds/casualbird
Summary: “I, ah, I’m gonna need you to promise to take care of yourself while I’m away,” said Jeralt, because he did have a point, and seeing Seteth like this, his wet lips parted, hearing his sweet words, his quick breaths—well, Jeralt found himself in a hurry to get to it.The night before Jeralt departs on a mission, he and Seteth have some instructions for each other.
Relationships: Jeralt Reus Eisner/Seteth
Comments: 17
Kudos: 123





	care & keeping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [you know who you are](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=you+know+who+you+are).



After Jeralt let Flayn off his shoulders, looked into the ‘little lady’s’ bright eyes, entreated her to ‘at least try keepin’ out of trouble,’ as they turned back for the knight’s quarters, Seteth took his hand.

The setting sun hovered lazy over the walls of Garreg Mach, playing off the ripples in the fish pond, the stained glass, the crags of Jeralt’s face. His smile lines, his crow’s feet, all the little crinkles in his skin were shaded in soft relief, and Seteth didn’t even know he was staring.

Jeralt turned his face toward him, half-laughed. Seteth demurred, blushed, looked away. Really, he didn’t even know _why,_ they aren’t a _secret._

Well. They might have preferred to be one, but with their starry-eyed, loose-lipped little lady…

Seteth had found, after quite some grousing, that he couldn’t even play at staying angry. Certainly, there were pratfalls—giggling students, a truly humiliating conversation with Rhea, an even _worse_ one with Manuela…

But he hadn’t seen that kind of verve from Flayn in _years._ Even though he reminded her to temper her expectations, that it was early, that there were, regrettably, reservations… oh, the way she shone. Bringing him flowers, demanding piggyback rides, asking for hour after hour of fishing or stories or lance training. Seteth watched her, once, as she nodded off against his shoulder, her face no less joyful for its sleepiness.

And. Well. Jeralt held his hand in public, now. Brushed his knuckles with a callused thumb, flashed Seteth a knowing, teasing look that made him feel, somehow, _young._

Seteth smiled easy, like honey pooling over the cakes they’d had for dessert that evening, the four of them. And he tried to keep it that way, easy, tried to stay in that moment, in that sunset glow. It’s what Jeralt would have told him to do.

Still—he squeezed Jeralt’s careworn hand, glanced downward to his feet. Took comfort in the way they walked in step, Jeralt’s thumb brushing the curve of his wrist.

Jeralt was leaving in the morning, before dawn. On Church business—Seteth knew all the details, had given the brief himself… but there was so much _unknown._ So much _risk._

A heavy sigh. “I know I’ve reminded you before,” said Seteth, “but I very much hope you’ll be careful while you’re away.”

“It’s a routine mission. ’S just some bandits causing trouble.” Jeralt laughed, “I’ll put the fear of Seiros in ‘em.” Seteth wanted to hate that nonchalance, wanted to hate the way he was letting himself believe it. To hate what a balm it was to him. From anyone else, that kind of optimism would have been—foolish.

Jeralt was no fool. Sometimes a little cocksure, he still played at a young man’s bravado, but it was all backed up with _competence._ Blade Breaker, people called him. He’d told Seteth that story once, sitting on the dock, fishing idle without bait.

If Seteth had been with him at the time, he’d have laid into him for his carelessness. But, well, as Jeralt aged, he’d learned to hedge a little better. Seteth watched him write work orders, take inventories. Always double-checking, him. Jeralt had fussed, once, over Byleth at the middle of term, plowed under with papers to grade. And Seteth had seen, and felt his heart wringing its little hands.

Jeralt really would probably be alright.

Still, Seteth squeezed his hand once more, before he could stop himself. Before he could chastise himself, for being so— for being so prepared to miss him, to fret over him so. To be such a—Rhea always called him a mother hen.

He stepped a little busier, up the cobbled path, through the wrought-iron gate that led to the knight’s quarters. Jeralt laughed softly as he went, stumbling to keep up.

“Man on a mission? Sweetheart—” and at this Seteth’s face flushed, unaccustomed to being anyone’s sweetheart where others might hear about it, “—relax. What’s wrong?”

Seteth pursed his lips, not stopping. Jeralt’s room stood at the end of the row, and he’d—well, he’d have liked to be in it already. “I would rather have this conversation in private,” he said, regretting how crisp, how prim and _starched_ he sounded.

Jeralt only nodded, bless him, and hurried for the door. Jeralt was-- well, once upon a time Seteth would have called him _boorish,_ but he cared about Seteth’s brittle dignity where it counted.

So Seteth took deep breaths, stepping back from the door so Jeralt could unlock it, flashing Seteth an innocent smile as he fumbled for the key. Jeralt opened the door, ushering him through with a smile, an “after you, Your Grace.”

Seteth always breathed a little easier in Jeralt’s room. It was like entering a warm house in a blizzard, like peeling off a wet coat. It was just—it was so _simple._ Rustic, even, with a river-stone hearth, scratched floorboards. The first several times Seteth had been inside, well. He’d been… apprehensive. But the place had grown on him, soft and inexorable and quicker than he’d thought, like the creep of ivy over the monastery walls in summertime.

Jeralt motioned vaguely, offering a seat, and Seteth was not in the mood to justify to himself his choice of the bed over the desk chair. The bed was lived-in. Comfortable, with a dip in the center of the mattress, like the one in his longed-for cabin by the sea. And the desk chair… had only room enough for one.

“Hold on a minute, ‘kay?” A boyish smile as he said this, bending to restart the fire. He worked at it with practiced hands, piling the kindling up just so. Most people would have just used a little hand magic, even if it wasn’t their forte, but Jeralt preferred the old-fashioned way. Said, once, that he didn’t trust magic. Didn’t want to make himself beholden to things he didn’t understand.

Seteth tried not to feel like that, generally, but had to wonder if Jeralt wasn’t right. That was the thing about him, that had had him so vexed when they’d first met. He usually was.

So he sat back, made himself content. Worried the edge of Jeralt’s homespun blanket between arthritic fingertips.

It wasn’t long before a little fire crackled away, and Jeralt rose, brushed off his hands, sat beside Seteth on the bed. Close enough to feel his body heat, to smell smoke and soap and armor polish.

“Now,” he said, voice as warm and rough as a hearthstone. One weathered hand came to rest on the bend of Seteth’s knee, gentle. It was the kind of touch that would have riled him even a couple of moons ago, but now felt like a tether to the earth. “What’s the matter, Set? Missing me already?”

A breath, long and slow and sighing. “I suppose. I—we—haven’t been separated before, like this. Since…”

Since you kissed me that late night in my office. Since Flayn told me she looked up to you. Since, despite all my better judgment, you swept me off my foolish feet.

Jeralt only nodded. “I know you worry about me. You’re a worrywart, you are.” This with a smile, a little squeeze of his knee. “But I’m telling you, sweetheart, I’ve got no reservations. And trust me, you’d know if I did.”

He’s right. Seteth would. Stalwart and capable as he was, Jeralt never shied away from raising his concerns, at least when it came to his work. ‘The squeaky wheel gets the grease,’ he’d always say.

“I feel better about this than most stuff I did when I was on my own. I’ll have all the knights with me—and even if some of ‘em are a pain in the ass, they know what they’re up to. And I’ll have all those men I’ve been working on training, and I won’t have the kid to worry about, and… Heh.” Jeralt leaned in, nudged at Seteth with a broad shoulder. “I’ve seen the convoy you put together, Set, and it’s perfect. Kind of feels like you’ll be taking care of me, even though I’m not around.”

Seteth could _feel_ himself coloring at that. He smiled demurely, and even as he shifted his gaze away, laid one hand over Jeralt’s, lacing fingers together.

“That’s a… lovely sentiment, Jeralt. Thank you.”

A little kiss to his temple, with the brush of stubble at his forehead. Warm, like Jeralt’s hand, like the fire, fending off the late-autumn chill.

“You know, Set, maybe I’m flattering myself, but I wonder if you’re not a little antsy just ‘cause you won’t have me around to fuss over.” This with a wry smile, sprinkled with mischief. “Can’t be a mother hen if the rooster’s flown the coop.”

“Jeralt!” Seteth glared, but there was a crinkling at the edges of his eyes that belied all of his bluster.

“What? I didn’t say _cock.”_

“You’re _incorrigible.”_

“Yep,” he said, with pride. “But I’m yours.”

He’d… he’d never said that before. Well. Maybe the other way around—he’d called Seteth _his,_ before, when they made love, when Seteth let himself be spoiled, held. Not outside the heat of some moment or another, not when they were just... together.

Either way, it felt momentous. Even if he’d just been teasing, even after such a base and stupid joke…

It had been quite a while since someone had _belonged_ to Seteth.

His eyes and mouth fell open, despite himself, despite the propriety he tried so hard to keep about him. He laughed, soft at the back of his mouth, a little giddy.

Jeralt clasped his hand a little tighter, shook his head. “Getting soft on me?”

A breath. “Perhaps.”

“You’ll be wanting a kiss, then.” He shifted his weight, leaned in just the slightest bit, the fur cuffs of his jacket brushing Seteth’s billowed sleeves.

“Perhaps,” said Seteth again, before closing the distance himself, careful, by degrees. Jeralt’s lips were chapped against his own, and Seteth was continually surprised by how little he minded it. All of Jeralt’s coarseness, really—his language, his stubble, his thin-worn clothes and weatherbeaten skin. 

He pulled back, watched those soft brown eyes blink open. Watched Jeralt’s lips go from parted to smiling, spilling hushed laughter. Jeralt’s one hand stayed wrapped up in Seteth’s own, but the other came to rest on the plane of his shoulder, smoothing down over his sleeve. Seteth leaned into it, letting out a little sigh.

“Aw, look at you,” Jeralt murmured, the words all rumbling in his chest. “I’m gonna miss that face. That one,” he said, kissing Seteth’s cheek, watching him blush, “right there.”

Jeralt leaned in again, and this time kissed him deeper, hand drifting to the center of Seteth’s back to feel him breathe. He spread his fingers, flattened his palm, felt Seteth’s heartbeat kick up when he nipped at his full lower lip. Seteth’s hand went warm, starting to sweat against his own, and Jeralt knew he was getting somewhere.

“That’s it,” he said, barely pulling back—just tilting his head, so their foreheads touched. “I know you’re worried about me taking care of myself, Set, but I gotta say I’m worried about _you.”_

And Seteth did lean back at that, blinking, half-dazed. “How do you mean? I won’t be doing anything out of the ordinary.”

A little shake of Jeralt’s head. “I know, I know. That’s the problem. Ordinary for you is working yourself half to death. Pushing pens until you snap ‘em, poor thing.” He slipped his hand free from Seteth’s, laid it against the fine line of his jaw. Brushed, with the pad of his thumb, Seteth’s cheekbone, making his breath shiver. “If I’m not around to drag you to bed, I know you’ll just keep working.”

Gathering himself, Seteth opened his mouth as if to protest, only to be gently shushed. “Hear me out, won’t you, sweetheart? I promise, I’m going somewhere with this, and it’s a place I think you’ll like.”

“Hm. F-fair enough, dear.”

Jeralt glowed so brightly with the endearment he nearly forgot what he was meant to say. It was like an apple on the branch, the way Seteth spoke to him. Sweetening, reddening, rounding out. _Captain Jeralt,_ first, and then just _Jeralt,_ and now _this,_ and it was… really, really something.

A sheepish smile split Jeralt’s lips when he realized he was staring. Seteth almost laughed, but it wouldn’t have been entirely polite.

“I, ah, I’m gonna need you to promise to take care of yourself while I’m away,” said Jeralt, because he _did_ have a point, and seeing Seteth like this, his wet lips parted, hearing his sweet words, his quick breaths—well, Jeralt found himself in a hurry to get to it.

Seteth cocked his head, just gently, but it was so precious that Jeralt dropped his train of thought once more, kissed the bemusement right off of his face.

A moment later, breathing slightly harder, Seteth spoke. “How so?”

“Well, for one thing, I’ll need you to get away from your desk sometimes, to eat with the little lady. And I’ll need you to say no sometimes, when people try to give you more work than you can handle. Even Rhea, if she comes asking for a mile when you can only give a meter? While you’re still planning that ball? Sweetheart, tell her no.”

A slow shake of Seteth’s head, though it didn’t come without a smile. “Hypocrite,” he murmured, with laughter in his tone. “When do you ever say no to Lady Rhea?”

Jeralt practically snorted. “Oh, never, angel, Rhea’s scary as hell. But she _loves_ you, and she’ll understand.”

“She’s—when you’ve known her as long as I have…” It was an entire conversation, that, but Seteth’s limbs were too loose, his head too full of love and cotton wool to have it just then. “Hmph. I’ll consider it, for you.”

“That’s the best I’m gonna get out of you, I know.” Jeralt rewarded him with a kiss, slow and sweet like the old love songs Seteth sometimes caught him humming. Seteth smiled, breathed a wistful little moan against his lips.

“And there’s one more thing, Set, before I stop making you listen to me… I want you to go to _bed._ Don’t want you burning that midnight oil, want you to get some rest. Like I’d make you do.”

He sighed, pulling Seteth closer, holding their chests flush. Even with all the talk, the _lecture_ he was getting, Jeralt could still feel Seteth’s heart skipping against his breast. _Such a sweetheart,_ he thought, _so easy to tease._

“And I want you to go to your room—or hell, come back here, and I want you to _take care of yourself.”_ That last bit was shaded with meaning, and Jeralt spoke it softly, breath hot against Seteth’s sensitive ear.

Seteth tensed, just a little, in his arms. Dipped back, showed the deep red of his face. “You mean—? I don’t often…”

“Yeah, I mean, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want you getting all frustrated.” A little sigh, then, a slow shake of Jeralt’s head. “Want you looked after, even if I’m not around.”

And Seteth’s face softened, head listing against Jeralt’s shoulder. There was a little something in him, some ingrained thing that had burrowed under his skin like a moth in an old wardrobe, something that told him to feel—scandalized. But he found, after the initial shock wore off, that he didn’t especially _want_ to.

“Yeah,” Jeralt crooned, laying a kiss on the part of his hair, stroking over his slackening spine.“Yeah, I know you like it when I take care of you.” It earned him a little shiver—he was right. Perhaps it had taken Seteth a while to admit to it, to allow it to happen at all, but…

Really, when Seteth compared the time he spent with Jeralt to what had come before—his cold, palatial bed at the top of the monastery, so far removed from _anything…_ Well. Touching himself like that was something he’d thought about, fretted over, attempted when his body insisted, but... it had never gone quite properly for him. His mind had never been quiet enough, he’d never been able to sweep out all that guilt or anxiety, to replace it with anything more... conducive to success.

But it wouldn’t hurt to try again. Might go more smoothly, if it wasn’t just--weakness. If it was just another way for Jeralt to care for him.

Seteth acquiesced, as if it was ever really in doubt. He shifted, curling fingers into the thick linen of Jeralt’s shirt. Breathing, looking sternly at that skittish thing within him ’til it softened. “How should I—?”

And Jeralt’s hand slid gentle over his back, curving toward his waist, and Seteth felt it warm even through his layers. “You want me to show you, sweetheart?”

“I… might like that.”

Half a laugh, breathed soft into Seteth’s hair. “Well, let me know if you don’t. Here,” murmured Jeralt, guiding him up by their joined hands, “c’mere, you.”

He kissed Seteth again, open-mouthed and thorough, and Seteth thrilled a little, as he always did, at the feel of Jeralt’s chipped teeth against his tongue, stubble against the corners of his mouth. Jeralt’s hand traveled up over his obliques, his ribs, followed the curve of them up toward his breast, kneading it slow beneath his fingertips. Jeralt had always taken particular note of his chest, had whispered to him some scandalous things about it, and Seteth… was never clear-headed enough to decide whether he thought it odd. Jeralt’s thumb swept slow, deliberate over his peaked nipple, and Seteth inhaled sharp against his mouth.

“That’s it,” Jeralt whispered, turning his head to speak directly into Seteth’s ear. “Know you like that, why don’t you start there? Tease yourself a little, you’re always taking your own sweet. Making sure you get the job done right.”

“And then,” he said, and at this slipped his hand away from Seteth’s, insinuated it between them, warm fingertips meeting at the fastenings to Seteth’s tunic. “You can undress yourself a little, doesn’t have to be all at once.”

He fumbled with the catches a little, laughing to himself. “You’re better at it than I am, won’t go breaking the mood.”

Seteth hadn’t really been aware there was _supposed_ to be a mood, when one was… in the company of oneself.

Well. There wasn’t really time to dwell on it, with Jeralt fiddling with his clothes, rasping blasphemy under his breath. Seteth laughed—it was a perennial frustration of Jeralt’s, all the pieces, hidden fasteners to Seteth’s clothes. He reached in to help, slipping out of all but blouse and breeches. Smiling—in this, at least, Seteth had the upper hand.

Though it wasn’t as if he didn’t secretly adore being helpless. He hummed with pleasure as Jeralt pulled him back in on strong arms, ran warm hands over his chest, his abdomen. Fingertips dipped below the waist of his breeches, slipping into the curves of his Adonis lines, making his hips shiver up toward those hands. Seteth’s fingers shook, hovering idle about his chest, and Jeralt caught him up by the wrist, rolled his thumb into the writer’s-cramped muscle of his palm. He guided that hand up to his face, kissed the knob of his wrist—not because it was in any plan, just because Seteth’s wobbly smile was so sweet.

“Ah, look at you,” breathed Jeralt, lips brushing against the thin skin of Seteth’s hand. “Getting all riled up, huh?”

A sharp eyetooth dug into the fullness of Seteth’s lower lip, his gaze darting down. “Y-you might say that.” Jeralt laughed, laid a kiss on the point of his pulse. He was always weak for Seteth, more than he might have preferred—but never as much as when his primness slipped, melted at the edges, turned coy.

“Thinking about what you want me to do for you? How you want to be touched?” At Seteth’s nod, Jeralt lifted Seteth’s hand, reminding himself that he’d had a reason for taking it in the first place, guiding it up to the half-open placket of Seteth’s blouse. Gently, he laid Seteth’s palm against the curve of his breast, and felt the hum of his heartbeat in the incidental brush of his own fingertips to heated skin.

“Here, Set?”

And Seteth’s fingers trembled against the thin fabric of his shirt, unfurled to brush at his nipple—but he shook his head.

“Not just this,” he said, lips curving like the new moon, “I’m afraid.”

Jeralt couldn’t help himself, then, curling the fingers of his other hand over the ridge of Seteth’s hip, drawing them together, ducking to lay a kiss just to the side of Seteth’s Adam’s apple.

“Well then,” he rumbled, brushing his unshaven cheek against the sensitive skin of Seteth’s neck, “why don’t you go on and show me what you do want?”

He felt, after only a second’s hesitation, the shift of Seteth’s hand, slow over his silk shirt, and leaned back to watch its descent over his solar-plexus, the soft skin of his stomach. Jeralt murmured his approval as Seteth’s hand idled at his hip, before jerking down to unlace his breeches, a practiced motion rendered a darling fumble.

“There you go,” he crooned, as Seteth loosened them enough to slip his hand inside. He gasped so sweetly at the curl of his fingers around his cock, at the sweet shock that ran through him. Seteth pursed his lips and stroked himself and _ached,_ eyes meeting Jeralt’s for approval.

He found it in the split of Jeralt’s lips, the flash of crooked teeth, of maple-syrup eyes. In the catch of Jeralt’s breath, the raw amazement in his sigh.

“That’s it,” said Jeralt, and Seteth whined, listing forward, dropping his hot brow at Jeralt’s collarbone, breathing in the musky woodsmoke scent of him. Jeralt’s arms enclosed him, sturdy and safe, untucking the hem of his blouse to pet slow circles on bare skin. “You’re doing perfect, sweetheart, just like that.”

“Jeralt—!” Seteth sped his hand, shoulder working in a stuttering rhythm against Jeralt’s, hips pushing up all unsteady. No matter, it was no matter, Jeralt had him. Even when he was gone, Jeralt would have him. Had him maybe more than Seteth was prepared to say.

So he said nothing, only shifted against the rock of Jeralt’s body, keened into his sharp collarbone. Seteth felt his fingers going slick, felt himself twitching, and abandoned saying nothing to cry Jeralt’s name again.

“Feel good, Seteth?” Jeralt asked, and laughed soft and easy at Seteth’s affirmative whine. He held him closer, fingertips tracing an idle slalom between each of Seteth’s vertebrae. “That’s right. You know, I ought to tell you why I thought this up… might interest you.”

A glance upward—Seteth’s eyes were watery, his pale skin burning, and he was so lovely that Jeralt nigh forgot what he was going to say.

“Why’s that?” He faltered for a second in asking, hand stilling—but fell right back into step, hips pitching.

“I ever tell you,” Jeralt said, with the gentlest smirk he could muster, “that I love being inside you?” He punctuated this with the slow pressure of his hands, drifting to wrap around Seteth’s waist, to dig his fingertips in the way he did when Seteth would slouch panting in his lap, dripping with his thighs spread wide. “I’m sure I have, sweetheart, I’m sure I’ve told you how tight you are, how much I love it when you get all shaky for me...”

Seteth nodded, moaning low and gasping as he pressed his slack mouth against Jeralt’s throat, feeling his pulse against wet lips. When Jeralt spoke to him like that--oh, it was nothing he’d ever want to hear in the day, but in Jeralt’s arms it thrilled him, spiked his blood and tangled all his veins.

And Jeralt’s one hand traveled down the ridge of Seteth’s spine, slow and firm, and Seteth’s arm was aching with exertion but not near as much as the rest of him, the tightness in his bicep nothing next to that in his chest, his abdomen. And Jeralt was speaking again, soft and slow and honeyed, and it was all Seteth could do to marshal himself and listen.

“But I was thinking, I can do better, I _want_ to do better for you, and when I get back I’ll show you, sweetheart, I’ll bring you back here and I’ll lay you out right, and I’ll rub you down until you’re nice and relaxed for me--”

Seteth whined, shuddered, hips rolling up at how _lovely_ that sounded, indulgent in a way he’d only just learned how to be again, at how much and how instantly he craved it.

“And I’ll open you up nice and slow and easy, take my time until you wanna _beg_ me for it...”

Seteth wanted to beg him for it _just then,_ but couldn’t spit anything out before Jeralt’s thick fingertips curled downward, stroked tight little circles at his entrance, teasing him and making him _sob._

“That’s right, Set, and I’ll push into you so easy, you’ll be so open, you’ll be dripping for me, and I’ll fuck you so slow we can barely stand it, and I’ll fill you up just how you like it, make you come as many times as you--oh, _angel--”_

This as Seteth writhed against him, body stuttering, hips snapping as he came into his hand, into his breeches. Wailing, little teardrops catching in the fabric of Jeralt’s shirt.

“There you go, that’s right,” Jeralt coaxed him, kissing once more the part of his mussed hair. “Let it out, sweetheart, you were so good. So good.”

He cradled Seteth in his arms again, steadying him as he slackened, exhausted, pulling out tense slick fingers and flexing them, quivering.

“You see?” asked Jeralt, after the better part of the shaking was over, after Seteth’s breath had evened liked the sea after a storm. “You want that, don’t you? ‘S why you’ve got to take care of yourself, so you’re not so damn pent up, so I can take my time with you when I get back.”

Seteth nodded, slow and dreamy, already half-asleep. “I suppose... I could manage that.”

Jeralt kissed his salty forehead, and Seteth could feel him smiling against his skin. “That’s what I like to hear, sweetheart.”

And Seteth reached out with his clean hand, searching for Jeralt’s so they could tangle together once more, loose but no less loving. “My dear.”

“I know, I know, you’re sweet on me, it’s cute. Let’s get you some rest, huh?”

And even though Jeralt was gone when he woke, left only traces of his warmth at the other side of the too-small bed, well.

It had been quite some time since Seteth had known how to feel so well provided for. So well, perhaps, _loved._

**Author's Note:**

> written for an anonymous friend who i hope loves reading it as much as i loved writing it!
> 
> i hope all of _y'all_ loved it, too! let me know how you felt about it, and hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles) if you feel so inclined!!
> 
> for bonus points: tell me what this ship ought to be called! i have no idea.


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